SKETCH FOR MY DEATH
. . . and death will come
As if itself, by icicles inter-wined
into iron bars, in the place of window
was caught, as looking from the overground top
of my underground solitary confinement
how, instead of the last breaths
all the night, was dropping from above the icy rust
on the bed, empty of mattress and sheets
and my, human
shell
Or it just pretended, up there on the ceiling
to see not how my body
curled down there on the cell threshold
grabs by the last twitches
the remnants of an ancient summer heat
creaped once, by the stony stairs
into underground of the old building
of order
and system
. . . or it was commanded, at the last minute
to postpone
or . . .
Certainly, it descended not!
I remember, as if it was yesterday
that from above
through the icy emptiness of the bars
whiled, the Abyss
But that in them, while therefrom dropped the soot
was not entwined, It's face
only, gentle, shadow of Death instead
Only a mute imprint of life in the cell
in which, for me, has died a man
in which a friend remained laying down
as if on the ice, until Judgment Day
in which History was announced by Barabbas
in which he was again chosen by mob
to be her savior
You stayed sitting on two halves
both of which are burning - with blaze
Hence, even today, I am among you, cold
All quondam heats are spent
Please, shut the window
I do shiver, in your world
PostScript:
GUIDE HOW TO SEE THE JAIL FROM INSIDE
As if itself, by icicles inter-wined
into iron bars, in the place of window
was caught, as looking from the overground top
of my underground solitary confinement
how, instead of the last breaths
all the night, was dropping from above the icy rust
on the bed, empty of mattress and sheets
and my, human
shell
Or it just pretended, up there on the ceiling
to see not how my body
curled down there on the cell threshold
grabs by the last twitches
the remnants of an ancient summer heat
creaped once, by the stony stairs
into underground of the old building
of order
and system
. . . or it was commanded, at the last minute
to postpone
or . . .
Certainly, it descended not!
I remember, as if it was yesterday
that from above
through the icy emptiness of the bars
whiled, the Abyss
But that in them, while therefrom dropped the soot
was not entwined, It's face
only, gentle, shadow of Death instead
Only a mute imprint of life in the cell
in which, for me, has died a man
in which a friend remained laying down
as if on the ice, until Judgment Day
in which History was announced by Barabbas
in which he was again chosen by mob
to be her savior
You stayed sitting on two halves
both of which are burning - with blaze
Hence, even today, I am among you, cold
All quondam heats are spent
Please, shut the window
I do shiver, in your world
PostScript:
GUIDE HOW TO SEE THE JAIL FROM INSIDE
To the left of the entrance, in solitary confinement, in the icy, meters high basement, with the gridded window by its very top so as a bit of air enter the old musty Austrian building, with a huge iron bed without mattress and bed-sheets, and with a huge container for my night toilet that I will, at dawn, as accompanied by the prison guard, personally carry to empty into a pit from which has first to be removed a heavy stone lid, I spent a winter night (of Sarajevo Olympics) from which I have never come out among the humans.
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